Roots
by AlmightyChrissy
Summary: Rosethorn always did love birds... (slash)


Title: Roots

Author: Chris F.

Rating: R for allusions to sexual contact between two women. 

Disclaimer: The characters used herein were created by Tamora Pierce and are used without permission 

Summary: Rosethorn has always loved birds.... 

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"She likes birds _much_ more than she likes people"- _Tris' Book_

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In my dreams, I am a tree, thick-stumped and green-leafed. It has always been this way, since I was a little girl, since before I understood what it was about me that made all the crops on the farm brush against me and grow better when I tended them. 

I have always been a tree in my mind's eyes, but I wasn't always complete. The most essential element to a tree is its stability, its roots reaching far under the ground, and when I was younger I lacked that. All my days on the farm, I felt less rooted than even the weakest weed. When I got older, came to the Living Circle, became an initiate, I still felt rootless. 

I achieved wonders. I grew plants, developed cures, I became a dedicate and left my former life behind. I was revered among plant mages, and still I felt ungrounded. I had roots, they were there, they just had no soil rich enough to sink into. It made me restless. My sleep was plagued with dreams of my tree-self falling over, shriveling up and dying because I had no way to get nourishment. 

The transfer to Discipline was almost a relief. The plant life around the small house was enough to make me feel stronger, even though I still was without roots. They sent me a fellow dedicate, a tall, slender woman named Lark. They told us we were to watch the misfits, the children with so much power it leaked out and tainted their ability to deal with others. Lark was there to give them soothing and comfort; I was there to keep the children in line. 

We started as merely coworkers, Lark and I. She wove her cloth, I tended my plants, and we spoke to one another no more than we had to. Slowly, she started talking to me more often, and I felt drawn to respond. The leaves and branches that I have always felt inside me reached towards her, and even though I knew it made no sense, knew she was no plant mage, I reached towards her as surely as leaves grow to the sun. 

It was slow between us, cautious. We seemed so wrong for each other. She was this beautiful flower, more than a rough thing like me could ever hope for, and I couldn't understand why she'd want anything to do with me. She was sweet and patient while I was bitter and mean. I terrified small children and left her to pick up the messes I left them in, and still she kept looking at me with this spark in her eyes and in her smile. 

I started dreaming more. Now I dreamt of a small bird flying around my branches, gently brushing against my leaves. I have always loved birds, but never have they been part of my dreams before. I would wake up sweating, gasping for air, my whole body tingling. In the morning, Lark would grin at me for what felt like no reason, and I wondered what she knew and how. 

The first time she came to me in the night, I felt her slide over me, smooth and soft. She touched me, and it was like silk over my thorns. I always thought that silk, delicate as it is, would snag on thorns, but she passed right over it, lips against me, skin pressed together. 

My back arched, and I saw and felt myself as a tree again, but now the bird was everywhere at once, everywhere on my branches and stems and trunk and I was so thankful that we had no students at the time because I'm sure my scream would have woken them. 

And then, I felt Lark's touch, so soft it felt like feathers, and a voice sweet like birdsong told me "Here is the place. Here you put down your roots. You can be safe here, healthy here. Put down your roots." And I felt the tree again, I felt the tree as myself, and my roots dug deep into the soil, shrieking with ecstasy at finally being nourished. Light kisses brought me back to myself, and I stared into Lark's dancing eyes and finally found the stability, the anchorage I was looking for. 

In my dreams, I am a tree, with deep roots and strong branches, and there is a bird's nest at my highest point, where I am the most sensitive. The nest belongs to a small bird who still appears in my dreams. 

The bird is a lark. 


End file.
